A/N: I have no idea how long this story is going to be. . . and well, if anyone's ever read my BtVS fanfiction. . . ah, you'll understand why I'm hedging my bets. Anyway, there's a story here to tell. . . so I'm just gonna tell it. For the purposes of this story, I've slightly altered the layout of the hotel mentioned, mainly because it fit the story line, my apologies to anyone who's offended by this. Disclaimers in full force and effect (legalese for I don't own anything except the plot and any original characters mentioned
Previously: A twenty-six year old Irish-American girl disappeared in 2001; a year and a half later, she's still unfound. Tim Speedle survived the disaster of Dispo Day as did Calleigh Duquesne. . . . this picks up shortly after Dispo Day, but before Double Cap.
Two.
Hector watched her, his dark eyes trained on her every move. She was restless, almost pacing from one end of the room to another, her disquiet communicated easily to the infant she sought to comfort. The baby had been whiny, crying throughout the night, unwilling to nurse. He didn't know much about babies, but had a feeling this wasn't normal. He couldn't ask if she needed help, couldn't offer her any support at all. His orders were strict and explicit. Watch her, but no speaking. Ever.
El Comadreja knew that if she talked to her guards, there existed the possibility they would become sympathetic to her plight and aid her in some way. He wanted her isolated.
Sorcha fought the urge to walk to the window, instead swaying from side to side, trying to soothe the fractious infant in her arms. In her head, she had named the baby, but because of Gonzalvo's paranoid superstition, she refused to say it out loud. No doubt Gonzalvo had his own name for the baby, which more than likely differed from hers. It hardly mattered. When the time came, the baby was going with her. She'd die first, before she'd allow him to keep the baby.
Humming old lullabies her mother had sung to her, Sorcha finally managed to calm the baby down. She had to keep her calm and quiet, otherwise Gonzalvo would assume the worst and steal them away, no doubt to never return to the States. Laying the baby down in her basket, Sorcha brushed a gentle hand over her dark curls, whispering a prayer in Gaelic for the angels to keep watch over her and keep her safe. Tears sprung to her eyes and Sorcha straightened up, refusing to look at her jailer. Hector wasn't a bad man, and sometimes she sensed a softening of his attitude and a rough protectiveness for her and the baby, but it was always fleeting and tenuous.
Exhausted and nearly at the end of her rope, Sorcha dropped down onto the soft leather couch lining the inner wall of the room. They were on the ninth floor of the Marseilles Hotel, in the penthouse suite, overlooking the always popular South Beach area. Gonzalvo was out on the terrace conducting business. She'd long since given up trying to listen to his conversations. Like defiance, eavesdropping had engendered more than one beating.
Gonzalvo allowed her access to books and DVDs but no television. And where before Mairin was born he'd threatened her when the visions didn't come, now he cajoled and coddled her. Sorcha didn't know which was worse, living with the open brutality or trying to pretend the subtle torture didn't exist.
Either way, she knew she had to try and escape, had to find some way out.
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There were four suites on the penthouse floor, each suite had access to the rooftop helipad from private entrances; while the main hotel had access via a single elevator. They were currently occupying the north-eastern suite, overlooking the beach. Sorcha had free reign over all the rooms, save one. The men were occupying the suite directly to the south, while two other unrelated parties occupied the other suites. They'd been there for three days.
El Comadreja watched his guests, suspicion blooming in his head. He didn't trust either party, though he sensed only one was deliberately lying to him. Deciding he needed another opinion, and far better insight than he possessed, Enriques gestured his guests to continue.
"Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen."
His English wasn't heavily accented, in fact, his years abroad had reduced it to a mere seductive lilt; one that had lured more than one rival into a false sense of security and reluctant female to his bed. Getting gracefully to his feet, he tendered a quick apology. "I will return shortly."
Heading directly for the main sitting area, he wasted no time. He needed her, moments like this one were precisely the reason why he'd taken her. Without any greeting he held out his hand to her. "Come."
Sorcha looked at him, her eyes noting his barely controlled agitation. They'd been through this more than once. Whenever he had a "feeling" about someone or some situation, he'd drag her into it, expecting an answer from her. Sorcha had learned very quickly to have something for him, no matter what the situation. Only once had she asked to use her tarot cards, and she'd done it so quickly he'd not had a chance to beat her for it. Now, though, the knot in her belly and the lightheadedness that presaged a vision were already coursing through her.
Gracefully, using his outstretched hand for leverage, Sorcha got to her feet. He led her out of the room, leaving Hector and the baby behind, to the terrace. The bright light blinded her momentarily, and she blinked away the sudden tears. Her gaze immediately fell upon the two men sitting around the table, gauging them.
He never expected her to speak during these moments, in fact he preferred she kept her silence. The accent she'd never managed to hide or mask always gave her away, and he wanted no questions about her identity. The two men were both of average height, one stockier than the other, and both were clad in light, summer-weight clothing, a sharp contrast to the dark clothing Enriques always wore.
Enriques sat, his hand tugging Sorcha behind him. He didn't bother introducing her, nor did either of his guests expect one. She came to stop behind his chair, her free hand settling on his shoulder. Releasing her other hand, Enriques settled back, almost resting his head against her, watching his guests through slitted eyes. Sorcha ignored their conversation, focusing instead on the other two and their reactions. When she had her answer, she gently squeezed a shoulder, then, trailing her hand over Enriques' shoulders, she left the terrace.
These meetings exhausted her.
Though at least he didn't parade her around like a prize, didn't advertise her importance.
These days, Sorcha was very glad for such small mercies.
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Early the next morning, just before the sun broke over the horizon, the sound of sirens and emergency vehicles broke through her restless sleep, and Sorcha fought against the hands suddenly pulling her from the bed.
There was no warning, no whispered plans to prepare her for the jarring. A hand covered her mouth and a harshly worded warning sounded close. She fought off the hand, clawing at the back of it, drawing blood. She somehow managed to get her fingers around the wrist and remove it from her mouth. "Baby."
She felt, rather than heard, the small form being placed next to her, as the hand covering her mouth moved. "Callate, bruja. La policia estan aqui."
She knew better than to make a sound. The baby, however, was another story. Woken from a sound sleep and not understanding, the five week old began fussing and fretting. Soft bleating cries sounded from her and Sorcha gathered her close the instant Hector removed his hands. Panic began to settle in her belly, the fear of what would happen should she be unable to calm the baby sending her heartbeat racing. Thankfully, though, the proximity to her mother calmed the infant and her mouth moved reflexively, seeking a breast.
Not caring if Hector was watching her or not, Sorcha bared her breast and let Mairin suckle.
The atmosphere in the penthouse was tense, their guards openly wearing weapons. She could glimpse two of them standing by the door to penthouse, listening at the door intently. The silence was unnerving and Sorcha couldn't help wondering if this was going to force Gonzalvo into leaving Miami. Despair crashed through her, as she believed her hopes of rescue were being taken away.
The sounds of rapidly spoken Spanish broke through her growing sorrow, though Sorcha couldn't catch more than the barely hissed comments. They were moving, as soon as the police left.
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This was fun. In the way that wasn't. Tim wasn't sure what he hated more, being called out at barely five-thirty in the morning or having to process yet another hotel room. After a while, they all started to blend together, the only ones standing out either the really high-end places, like this one, or the bottom end of the spectrum, wherein the drug paraphernalia was decidedly more prevalent. Well, he thought, usually more prevalent. Heroin works, and a decidedly suspicious white substance littered the bathroom of the north-west penthouse of the Marseille, along with lovely amounts of bright red blood.
Two bodies were contained therein, the first decedent was located in the bathroom, arm tied off and slumped over the edge of the jacuzzi. The second was in the bedroom, on the far side of the bed, only the feet visible from the doorway. Cause of death in the bathroom was pretty evident, though he preferred to wait until Alexx pronounced and toxicology reports came back. His first thought was accidental overdose and suicide, but Tim held off mentioning that. Instead he focused on photographing everything, the smell of blood and body fluids hardly even registering.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway and Tim looked up in time to see a barely awake Calleigh moving toward him, her eyes watching her footsteps. "I got all that, just come in."
She whipped her head up to look at him, an entirely too bright smile on her face for this ungodly hour.
"Hey, Tim." He merely grunted his response, to which she smiled even wider. "What's the matter, not awake yet?"
Tim stared at her for a moment, a reluctant smile beginning to form on his features. It was really hard not to smile around Calleigh, no matter what the circumstances were. Even amidst the worst, goriest crime scene, she sported a cheery disposition. He often wondered how she managed to keep the bright facade, and other times he was beyond certain she was slightly unhinged. "Not really."
"Are we the only ones here?" She moved around him toward the second body, and stopped short at the end of the bed. "Did you get this?"
He stopped photographing the entrance to the bathroom, turning around to face her. "Not yet, why?"
"Come look at this."
He moved to stand behind her, and stared down at the body. "That's gonna make identifying him difficult."
She looked over her shoulder, finding him closer than she expected. "Is Horatio here yet?"
"He's interviewing the maid." Tim stepped around her, camera already flashing, capturing the corpse from all different angles. "Maybe you should look around for the head."
"Aw, Tim, you were here first." When all he did was stare at her pointedly for a moment, Calleigh sighed, giving in. "Fine, but you owe me on this one."
His low chuckle warmed her insides, and she smiled a bit to herself as he muttered under his breath, "Sure, next time we get something really icky, I'll do it."
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"Lifestyles of the rich and idle." Horatio shook his head, listening to the summary his detectives were giving, his mind whirling with possibilities.
"Have we questioned any of the other guests?" From the blank looks from the faces in front of him, he assumed not. "All right, Adele, would you mind interviewing the neighbors? Someone had to hear something. Separating someone from their head is bound to make some noise."
She nodded, then moved out of range, heading for the penthouse in the south-west corner. Horatio then turned to his criminalists, asking them, "What have we got?"
Calleigh was the first to answer, "Dead body number two, well cause of death may or may not be beheading. There's not really enough blood for that. We need Alexx to make a final determination. Time of death is sometime around nine, according to body temperature."
Tim broke in then, saying, "Which conflicts with the first dead guy. His time of death is approximately four hours later."
"So, what we have is a headless body that died first and then an overdose." Horatio paused for a moment, surveying the crime scene. "Any ideas?"
Speedle answered for himself and Calleigh. "I'm thinking the overdose in the bathroom was staged, since the scene is too messy. Also, found a set of footprints that don't match the rest of the scene."
"Good work. Let's get this scene bagged and tagged and back to the shop."